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| - Pomeroy's and I have a really ass backwards relationship.
Typically, the purpose a bar serves me is to quench a thirst brought on by numerous factors, the most typical one being the uncanny excitement I have for making poor (but fun) decisions. Because of this, the purpose I serve bars is not only the obviously fiscal nature of the relationship, but I often serve as the harbinger of good times.
So here's the problem with P-roy's.
I never want to come here. Ever. This is the place I END UP at and it's typically the result of somebody else's negative circumstance that I don't really want to deal with (friend meltdown, death, crashed vehicles), and I almost always have to leave a place I like to come here. I know, weird, right? But I've been here more times than I can shake a stick at, and while I am usually the omen of good times to come, I always know that if I am on my way to Pomeroy's, not only will I be saving copious amounts of cashola, I also always end up having a blast and not doing something stupid.
So the role reversal always sends me for a loop, and the bathroom always smells like fresh poop, but I can't help kinda liking it.
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